Family Portrait
by Petroica traversi
Summary: A series of Caryl one-shots, with wildly varying lengths and themes.
1. Chapter 1

They sit side by side in his bed, naked as the day they were born. The pecans he found on a run made for a surprisingly good post-coital snack, but Carol doesn't seem too focused on eating them.

"Three times," she says almost wistfully, tipping her body toward his.

"What?"

"You made me come three times," she says, grinning.

He squints at her, and then licks the residue from the pecans off his fingers. She watches him, distracted for a moment.

"Ain't no big deal," he says.

She huffs out a laugh. "It is though."

He shrugs, and looks away. She hesitates before speaking again.

"Not to break bedroom etiquette by bringing up my dead husband, but that's three times more than Ed ever got me off during our entire marriage. You're like... the Carol Peletier orgasm World Record holder."

He laughs and finally looks back at her, eyeing her with interest.

"Well, let's see if we can't break that record," he says, and reaches for her.


	2. Chapter 2

He was used to her wandering into his cell, uninvited. Most people would receive an angry glare for invading his personal space, but she was good enough at gauging his moods to know when he wanted company, and when he wanted to be left alone.

Most of the time she'd hover briefly at his door, testing the water for a moment before moving in, but on this particular day she barreled in, not pausing to see if he was ok with it, and flopped gracelessly at his feet on the mattress. She buried her face in the blankets without even looking at him. Luckily for her, he was in a good mood.

"Might want to be careful where you throw your temper tantrums," he said, prodding her shoulder with his toes. "My feet smell."

The only response he received was a grunt. Well, ok.

She was usually pretty forthcoming with her problems, and it took him a moment to realize that she probably wanted him to ask what was up. He hated dealing with women sometimes.

"What happened?" he asked, after the silence stretched on too long.

"Nothing," she said, her voice muffled by the mattress.

He sighed, annoyed by her answer, and she finally looked up at him, an unidentifiable look on her face.

"Did you know you have a bit of a fan club?" she asked before bunching the blankets up to hide her face again.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Normally this was the sort of thing she'd tease him about, so he didn't understand why she was avoiding his eyes. The tips of her ears turned red.

"There's a handful of women from Woodbury who want you. They have a bet going to see who can get into your pants first."

He snorted, uncomfortable. The majority of the newcomers seemed intimidated by him, and usually went to Rick first with any problems. He hadn't noticed any of the women trying to make moves on him, and he wondered if maybe he was just that oblivious toward their advances.

"What do you care?" he asked, "I ain't interested in any of them."

"Because I overheard them talking about you. One of them brought me up, and said I seemed the closest to you, but I wasn't any kind of 'competition' because I'm too old and boring."

He froze and watched as her shoulders slumped in defeat. He'd never given much thought to how their relationship was viewed by outsiders. Even the people in their original group seemed unable to classify it. It didn't really concern him.

"Why do you care?" he asked, and she suddenly rolled over and sat up.

"Because I'm your – something!" she practically yelled, throwing her hands up in frustration.

And she was… she was his "something." Even he was unable to define their relationship, but for a long time it had teetered between a deep friendship, and something more.

She frequently crawled into his bed on cold nights, and they'd sleep pressed together in a way that wasn't quite platonic. He was always surprised that it felt comfortable, rather than awkward like he'd expect.

And he'd gone to her the night after his brother died, and cried into her chest as she held him and stroked his hair. He hadn't even considered seeking solace in anyone else.

Hell, they'd even shared a few chaste kisses, although they usually resulted in a few days of awkward avoidance. He figured they were both just too chickenshit to attempt anything else, too afraid to destroy what they had.

So maybe they hadn't exactly gotten hot and heavy with each other, but he liked what they had, and he didn't understand why she apparently thought these new women were a threat to her relationship with him. He told her as much.

"I don't like the idea of having to defend myself against these people," she said, "It's…. degrading."

"You don't have to," he replied, "Who cares what they think?"

"Imagine it was the other way 'round though," she said, "Imagine I had a half dozen men who sat around discussing what I would be like in bed, and making disparaging remarks about why you weren't good enough for me. Imagine that they even made a pact with each other that the first person who got to fuck me would spare no details when he informed the rest of the group."

His mind went blank. The two of them were both such private people, and the idea of people who were practically strangers talking about them that way was, as she said, sort of degrading? Infuriating? Not good, anyway. Suddenly he saw her point.

"They probably do," he said, trying to sound unaffected despite the sick feeling rolling through his gut. He couldn't imagine her with anyone else. He didn't want to.

She stared at him, lips parted, before finally looking away. He muttered a curse as she moved to stand up, and that was when he realized that this was it, the thing he had been avoiding out of fear. They'd never discussed their feelings, and he'd never really thought they needed to. But apparently she didn't agree with that sentiment, and he had to stop her from leaving or that window of opportunity would close.

He knew why they'd avoided crossing that boundary… but suddenly it all seemed too easy. Reaching out to her came naturally, without any thought. And when he pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, there wasn't the flash of panic he'd always expected. Instead there was a calmness that came over him as she pressed against him.

"If you want," he said cautiously, "I can go out there right now an' set the record straight. We can make some kind of declaration, and walk around holdin' hands and kissin' in public like Glenn and Maggie do. Is that what you want?"

She shook her head hesitantly.

"Then how 'bout we stop giving a shit what everyone else thinks. Fuck 'em. I ain't going after any of them Woodbury women, or anyone else. You're with me. I don't need no one else."

She smiled at him, and pressed her lips to his. It was yet another one of their chaste kisses, but somehow he didn't mind. He knew the rest would come eventually. They didn't feel the need to tear off each others' clothes, or have crazy sex so loud that the rest of the cell block would hear. What they had was still slowly building, but it was comfortable. For now he was more than happy to just be her something.


	3. Chapter 3

He'd been out on his own for two weeks when he found the car. It was just as Rick had described when Daryl dragged the details out of him, but he wouldn't have needed the description anyway. His name was scrawled across the windshield with a window marker.

She wasn't in the car, which was somewhat of a relief. He half expected to find her holed up in it, nearly dead or dead or something in between. But when he opened the door, all he found was a note sitting on the driver's seat.

His heart raced as he snatched it up and began to read.

_"Oh God, what do I even say?" it began, without preamble._

_"I fucked up, obviously. I don't know what Rick's told you. I don't know if you'd believe me if I told you the truth. Everything I did was done with the best intentions. Funny how that blew up in my face._

_I'm afraid. I don't think I've ever been so afraid. I tried to put on a brave face when Rick was saying those awful things to me, because I'm sick of letting men make me feel weak. But I have nothing to hide from you. You know me._

_I'm trying to be strong. I'm trying to remember the things you taught me, and the things I picked up on my own during that first awful winter. I've done well so far, but in this world 'so far' means just that. Who knows how long it will last?_

_This is stupid. I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for everything I've done, and everything I haven't done. I hope you know how much you mean to me. I hope you know what a wonderful person you are. No one's ever stuck up for me and taken care of me the way you have. Don't ever doubt yourself. I know you'll probably never find this, but I pray that you will, if only because you deserve to know._

_I'd tell you where I'm going, but I don't know. I'm thinking I'll head west first, but who knows how far I'll get. I hope we find each other again some day._

_Stay safe, Pookie._

_Love, Carol"_

He smoothed the letter out across his knee, and came to a decision. He was going to go find her, and nothing would stand in his way until he did.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite the labyrinth of halls, the group had decided that the school building was a good place to settle down for a few days. They'd all been at each others' throats lately, and the privacy afforded by the numerous classrooms was a welcome break from the tiny living rooms they usually crowded themselves into.

Once the building had been cleared and she'd settled into an empty chemistry lab, Carol decided it was probably safe enough to wander the building by herself. And if it wasn't safe, well...

She ran into Rick and Daryl as they were scoping out the school auditorium. She spotted the standard cheap school piano on the stage, and wandered toward it in a happy daze. God, how she missed playing piano.

"Do you think it's safe to play it?" she called down to Rick, as she reached toward the keys.

"I think so. The building is cleared, and the noise won't travel far. Go ahead and get 'Chopsticks' out of your system," he said, his words twisting into derision at the end of his sentence.

She smirked and sat down at the keyboard.

A year later and Daryl still remembered every detail of that moment. The way her fingers danced on the keys, hesitantly at first, but with more ease and certainty with each note she played. The stunned look upon Rick's face when he realized that she was actually really, really good. The sound of the music, which was so beautiful that the rest of the group had wandered in before she even finished the first song. The way she'd poured everything she had into playing, and had become so focused that she didn't even notice the audience she'd gained.

No one had even known she could play piano. No one had ever bothered to find out, he supposed.

When she quit for the night, after having played for well over an hour, she had turned to Rick with a look on her face that was something between pride and contempt, and scampered off the stage, retreating into the classroom she'd chosen to be her bedroom for the night. Though she never acknowledged it, she knew everyone underestimated her, and she seemed to enjoy proving them wrong every once in a while. And Daryl was damn proud of her for it.

There was something different about her after that, like something heavy had been lifted off her shoulders. Her smile seemed brighter than usual, if only for a few days.

So when he came across yet another cheap piano in another run-down school while on a run, he knew without a doubt that she'd be with him on his next trip. He'd give anything to see her smile like that again, and this time there wouldn't be anyone there to doubt her.


	5. Chapter 5

They'd missed all the major holidays during that first winter. Not that it bothered Daryl much. Holidays weren't worth looking forward to when you had a family like his.

Nearly everyone else seemed to lament the fact, though. Not getting presents was one thing, but he supposed that memories of holidays that were centered around big family meals would seem extra special to most people during those hard, lean months.

She'd told him once, during the darkest, coldest part of the winter, that she wished she could cook up a huge holiday meal for everyone. He didn't think any of them deserved it, really. They were always so caught up in their own bullshit that he was sure a gesture like that would go unnoticed by them. The things Carol did were always overlooked, somehow. And anyway, it wasn't like there was anything either of them could do about it. They made do with what they had, and it was never, ever enough.

Her comment popped into his head at random, one early spring day while he was out hunting. He'd bagged a huge turkey, and was making his way back to camp when he spotted some cattails that were just starting to bloom. He quickly cut a few of the stalks off, and decided to do a little more foraging.

A few hours later he approached the camp, trying not to look too pleased with himself. Her look of delight when he handed her the turkey would have been enough, but then he started to unpack the other assorted contents of his bag.

"Cattail flowers," he said, laying them on the ground. "Boil 'em up and they taste good... almost like corn."

"Prickly pear cactus lobes... I cleaned the needles out already so you don't have to worry about that. We can eat them fresh, and they taste sort of like lemon... well I think they do, anyway."

"Daryl, this is-"

"I ain't done," he interrupted. "Dandelion greens. Poor man's salad. And for dessert, hickory nuts."

He wasn't sure if the look she was giving him was admiration or exasperation. He didn't stick around to find out.


	6. Chapter 6

She had hoped that for once Daryl might get a fresh start. The people from Woodbury knew him as Merle's "enemy" brother, of course, but they'd also realized once they got to the prison that the things the Governor told them had been a lie. Maybe they wouldn't hold any animosity toward him.

They didn't know about his past, the reputation his family had, or the anger with which he'd lashed out at everyone when they'd first met him. She hoped that they'd take him at face value and see the gruff but thoughtful man she knew he was.

For the most part, they did. Some people seemed taken aback by his quiet nature, the way he evaded most conversations, and the fact that he spent most of his time at the prison avoiding the new people. But most people appricated the hard work he put into keeping things running, and making sure everyone had enough food to eat.

But there's an exception to every rule, and apparently the exception in this case didn't know of Carol's close relationship to Daryl.  
"What kind of meat is this?" a woman asked as Carol handed her her dinner. She was middle-aged, and looked as though she'd been rather comfortable during her time in Woodbury. Carol was often surprised by how suburban these people still looked.

"It's squirrel," she answered with a smile. She knew that probably wouldn't go over very well, but food was food.

The disgusted look that crossed the woman's face almost made Carol take the plate back, but she refrained. The woman moved along, grumbling to her friends.

She tried to ignore it as best she could. She'd heard the woman complaining about other things in the prison, but she gave her the benefit of the doubt, telling herself that the woman was still trying to adjust to a new place, and that she'd come around in time. If she wanted to bitch about the food, let her.

The next day brought more of the same. Daryl had lucked out that morning, managing to snag a few rabbits. But when that same woman came to pick up a plate of it, Carol was greeted with more complaining. She was tuning it out, until she realized that the subject had turned from the quality of the food to the man who always struggled to provide the whole prison with enough to eat.

"Can't that useless piece of white trash bring us anything better?"

Everyone turned to look at Carol as she slammed the metal spoon in her hand against the counter. She didn't know what came over her as she grabbed the woman's arm, and pulled her forward until their faces were just inches from each other.

"You listen here, missy," she said, ignoring the way the woman was trying to tug her arm back, "You can say whatever you want about my cooking, but if I hear you say one more negative thing about Daryl, you won't have anything to complain about anymore. Because I sure as hell won't be feeding you."

"We had better food at Woodbury. I didn't have to put up with this shit," the woman said defiantly.

"Yeah, well, you aren't in Woodbury anymore. Around here we all have to pull our weight, and we do the best we can with what we have. If you don't like the food Daryl brings back then feel free to go hunt down your own. And good luck with that. But if I hear you talking shit about him one more time you will sincerely regret it."

It was then that she noticed the stares she was getting, and the heat from the pan as she leaned over it. She hastily released the chastised woman's arm, and retreated from the room. It wasn't until she neared the door that she realized that Daryl had seen the whole thing.

She felt her face turn red, and sighed as he followed her to her cell.

"Thought I was gonna get to see a cat fight for a second," he said, clearly trying to suppress a grin.

"Shut up," she said, sitting down on her bed.

"Woulda been hot, really. I'd love to see you throw down with someone."

"I nearly burned myself on the stove. Guess that would have been 'hot'." She stared at him for a beat. "Did you hear what she said about you?"

He shrugged.

"Don't matter. I don't need you to defend me like I'm some damsel in distress or something."

She stared at the floor, fighting back a smile.

"But I guess if I was the damsel in distress, I'd have to properly thank you for defending my honor."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," he said.

He took her hand in his, and raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss against her knuckles. He then dropped her hand, and stepped toward the cell door, blushing fiercely.

"Seriously, that's all I get?" she called out as he retreated.

"For now," he called out over his shoulder.

She smiled, and laid back on her bunk. Maybe she'd have to get into fights more often.


	7. Chapter 7

She didn't hear it, but she sure as shit felt it. That telltale pull in her groin, the odd feeling of something coming apart between her legs, thread by thread. She'd ripped her pants.

It was no wonder; she wore the same ones every day, and they'd seen more than their fair share of hardships. As she crouched behind the counter she quickly glanced down, assessing the tear. Though the line was creeping backwards toward her ass, it wasn't yet bad enough to warrant her attention, and hiding from the herd of walkers passing by the store in which they were taking shelter seemed much more important at the moment. She ignored it, deciding to let it slide until they had time to address it.

She felt a few more threads pull the next day, as she was bending down to roll up her sleeping bag. She didn't say anything about it, though. Food had been scarce lately, and she figured they needed to concentrate on that rather than her fraying pants. She didn't want to be a pain in anyone's ass, despite the fact that her own ass was in very real danger of being exposed to the elements at any given moment.

The next morning Daryl managed to bag a deer. It was small, but it provided enough for everyone to get a decent meal for once. She was leaning over the fire, checking to see if the meat was done yet, when she heard a snicker from behind her. She turned to look, and saw Glenn and Maggie giggling conspiratorially.

"What?" she asked, slightly annoyed that they were enjoying themselves as she did the cooking as usual.

"Your pants," Daryl supplied from his place beside them, "There's a hole in them. In the back."

She couldn't help but notice how red his face was.

She hadn't felt the tear this time, but sure enough when she reached back to check she found that the entire backside of her pants was torn open on one side, exposing her plain black panties for the entire world to see. It didn't matter much to her. It wasn't like anything too exciting had been exposed. But Daryl blushed harder as she lifted the flap the hole had created.

"Well," she said, "had to happen eventually."

"We'll go this afternoon and see if we can't find you something new," he mumbled, staring at his shoes.

It wasn't until she was climbing behind him on his bike hours later that she realized what it all meant. He had been looking at her ass, maybe even before her pants tore.

She smiled as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Were you enjoying the view?" she asked shifting against the cold leather touching her skin, "Cause I can keep wearing these if you'd prefer that."

The backs of his ears turned red, and she knew he was blushing again.

"Stop," he said.


End file.
